


swim deep (we gotta make it better)

by piecesofgold



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, I swear this isn't as messy as it looks, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8211083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofgold/pseuds/piecesofgold
Summary: "He looks nothing like Rhaegar," she comments quietly, eyes still trained to the sleeping babe. "That's lucky, I suppose. Violet eyes and silver hair wouldn't serve in the North."





	

**Author's Note:**

> ....I can explain
> 
> 1\. There are many theories I've read about here. One, R+L=J (does that even count as a theory now?). Two, Allyria Dayne is the daughter of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark (you honestly can't convince me she's not). Three, I think Ashara knew.
> 
> 2\. Let me pretend Howland and Ashara were friends.
> 
> 3\. This...kind of blends book and show? Howland is in neither so this is just kinda my own thing.
> 
> 4\. HOWLAND BEING FOND OF JON.
> 
> 5\. Title from Swim by the band Valley

Their arrival at Starfall is met with stiff nods and clenched hands.

Ned presents Lady Ashara her brothers sword; they hear her weeping throughout the night.

The Lord and Lady of Starfall conveniently depart the next day with their eldest son Alec and his wife, Jocelyn, clearly meaning to no longer suffer their company.

Howland is tired, bone-tired. He pains to be back in The Neck, with Jyana, with the daughter he has yet to meet. _She looks like you_ , his lady wife had last written.  
Meera, she is named. The thought of her, what she may be, is all that keeps him going during the worst days.

He knows Ned is in a similar situation, knows Lady Catelyn gave birth to their first son just a month ago.

Almost the same time Lyanna birthed her only son.

They've been here a fortnight, and Howland longs for home. He's not accustomed to Southern heat; he belongs in the North.

When Howland is not forcing himself to pace across the Starfall courtyard in spite of his injury, he'll sit with the lad.

(Ned does, too, sometimes, but is more cautious than fond of the boy.)

All in all, despite the lads daunting heritage that he is oblivious to, there's nothing overly special about him. He's small, a tuff of jet black hair on his head and slate grey eyes. He takes after his mother, thank the Gods.

(Howland doesn't want to think what might have happened if he didn't. If there was more of his father in him, if his hair had been a shade lighter, his eyes any brighter...)

It makes his heart clench, too; the boy has no father, no mother - the wet nurse, Wylla, has been seeing to him -, has no idea that his short life is already made up of too many tragedies.

(He doesn't have a name, yet, or at least one that Ned refuses to tell him - probably a Targaryen type, which won't do. Howland has taken to simply calling him "Lyanna's boy".)

If Robert knew - it didn't bare even contemplating, especially after what little Howland had heard from Ned of what had been done to Princess Elia and her children.

Killing men on the field in battle is expected, but killing children...Howland shakes his head, gritting his teeth.

It's noon, sun rays slanted across the old nursery. Howland tosses his book aside, agitated and restless. Out of habit, he rubs his hand over the scar on his chest, wincing.

Lyanna's nameless boy fusses in his wraps, loose arms floundering uselessly. He grapples for the ceiling, squinting. He's not long been nursed, yet has since refused to settle.

"Now, that won't do," Howland chides, awkwardly attempting to wrap the blanket tighter around the small body. The child gurgles, and Howland swears the lad _frowns_ at him, as if expecting something else.

"Alright, alright," Howland grumbles, beaten. Gently, he manages to lift the boy, settling him in arms. "Better?" Another gurgle is all he gets as an answer, but the lad finally quietens.

Howland has little experience with babes - his rough hands were hardly made for them - but he knows to support a child's head, to keep an arm under the little body.

"Whiny little thing, aren't you?" Howland can't keep the fondness out his voice. The babe in his arms blinks up at him, opens his mouth as if meaning to respond, instead let's out a little yelp, and Howland smiles despite himself, letting the lad beat his large hand with tiny ineffectual fists.

Lady Ashara finds them like that, not an hour later.

"You're fond of the boy," is all she says when she enters. Howland looks up at her, feels a slight pang of shame seeing the black mourning dress she wears.

"He's a charming lad," Howland answers. A smile ghosts over Ashara's lips, striking violet eyes fond as she gazes at the babe.

It still felt strange. Last he had seen her, the very first time, was Harrenhal, sat next to Princess Elia during the tourney. She had danced with both Ned and Brandon afterwards.

Now, her Princess is dead, they have killed her brother, and she is forced to treat the daughter she bore Brandon Stark as her sister.

(Allyria's first name day had not long passed. She is little like Brandon, taking after her mothers family of dark blue eyes and lightened hair. Howland still cannot imagine how it must be for Lady Dayne, to have her daughter within arms reach but be unable to treat her as such.)

She is as lovely as he remembers, though, flowing dark hair and violet eyes. But her nails are chewed to the quick, and a fierce light he had once seen inside her looks as to have burned out, leaving only an empty shell.

"May I hold him?" Ashara asks, sitting and smoothing out her skirts.

Howland doesn't know why the question pains him so; all he can do is nod, and hands the child over into her arms. Ashara coos softly, which the lad seems to appreciate, little fingers catching in the black lace at her breast.

Ashara's eyes shine with unshed tears, face huge with a devastating smile. Howland's heart breaks.

"They wouldn't let me hold her," she whispers. He doesn't need to ask who she means.

Lyanna Stark's son falls asleep in Ashara Dayne's arms. Howland Reed swallows the lump in his throat as he watches Ashara press a kiss to the boys forehead. She carefully puts in back in the crib, tucks him in.

It's quiet for a long, tender moment.

"He looks nothing like Rhaegar," she comments quietly, eyes still trained to the sleeping babe. "That's lucky, I suppose. Violet eyes and silver hair wouldn't serve in the North." She pauses again. "Rhaenys and Aegon looked most like Elia. Apart from the eyes."

Howland finally finds his voice. "I am truly sorry, my lady. What the Lannisters did..." he flexes his sword hand. "Even in war - there is no excuse."

Ashara only nods.

"I loved my brother, Lord Reed," she says, voice tight, "but he should have been with Elia. He could have...Gods, the Martell's will never forgive us."

"Your brother loved Rhaegar."

"And how many people have died for loving him?" Ashara seethes. "Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon are dead. Arthur is dead. Lyanna Stark is dead. This poor child is condemned to a life without a mother or father. A bastard. What good did Rhaegar Targaryen do any of us here?"

"Better to live a bastard than condemmed to death for his birth," Howland grimaces.

Ashara deflates, hands wringing and head dropped forward. Then she laughs.

"Gods be good," she manages. "Last we saw each other, I was a lady in waiting and you a shy boy, barely a man grown. Now look at us. Discussing dead friends over Rheagar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark's son."

Something loosens in his chest then, and he laughs along with her until his sides hurts and they're wiping tears from their eyes.

They laugh so long and loud that little Allyria toddles in, curiosity peaked by a noise that hasn't been heard in Starfall for a long time. Ashara opens her arms and Allyria jumps into them, settling into her 'sisters' lap.

By some miracle, Lyanna's son sleeps through the whole thing.

"How much longer do you intend to remain here, my lord?" Ashara inquires as she combs through Allyria's curls with her fingers, much to the little girls distain.

"We depart North in three days, I believe."

"You miss your wife and daughter, I gather."

Howland smiles sadly at the thought of Jyana and Meera, safe in Greywater Watch. "More than anything. I'm yet to even meet my daughter."

Ashara hugs Allyria closer to her, although the girl is now attempting to peek over the crib. "I wish you good fortune in your journeys, Lord Reed."

Howland swears he sees Arthur, then, just for a moment.

"And you, Lady Dayne."

*

"Jon."

"Wha-?" Howland cracks a bleary eye open, not appreciating being pulled from sleep.

Ned, on the other end of the cabin, looks heavenwards.

"For...for the boy," he continues hesitantly. "Jon Snow."

As if hearing, the babe lets out a sharp cry from the basket the ships captain has provided as a cradle.

The dregs of sleep slip away, and Howland looks over Lyanna's son - Jon Snow - and ruffles his hair, to which Jon gurgles happily and tries to grab Howland's hands.

Howland smiles sadly. "Aye, I think that'll suffice."

*

He doesn't see Ned again, afterwards.

*

Meera Reed is tiny and fierce and every bit himself and Jyana. Her eyes are big and brown and sparkle with joy and tears. She squeals when Howland spins her round, grabs his beard in her tiny hands and plants kisses on his nose.

*

He gets word of Ashara Dayne's death a week after his arrival home.

It hurts more than the wound Arthur gave him.

*

Jojen tells him of Ned's death, in the solemn manner way he usually said things. Even Jyana is startled when her husband begins to weep.

*

Lyanna's boy isn't a boy anymore.

He's a man grown, black curly hair and slate grey eyes. He wears honor on his sleeve the way Ned did, has a weariness about him that Howland remembers in Rhaegar.

But there's a spark in him, a fight, a dark humour that can only be Lyanna's.

Howland stares into those slate grey eyes, and is taken back to that day in Starfall, to Jon Snow's tiny hands grappling against his own, to Ashara Dayne's tearful laughter.

 _What good has Rhaegar Targaryen done any of us here_? Ashara had asked.

 _This_ , _my lady_ , Howland wishes he could answer.

Now, Howland holds out a hand for the man before him to shake.

"Lord Snow," he begins. "I believe we have much to discuss."

**Author's Note:**

> honestly bless you for getting this far.
> 
> Comments & kudos appreciated :)


End file.
